


These Streets (Harry Styles)

by Amongthewildflowers



Category: One Direction
Genre: Also this isn't exactly a love story sorry, But there will be some like hook-ups and stuff, If Harry ends up with guys at one point too then it's not my fault, Okay so this might be a really good story but I'm not sure yet, THERES ALSO SWEARING, There might be explicit sex and or violence, There will be no non-consensual sex because I don't like that, Well it is but okay ya know what
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-21 23:07:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3707013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amongthewildflowers/pseuds/Amongthewildflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Okay so this is the prequel to a story called Counting Stars that I have on a different website. If you've read it then that's why you're here probably. However, you DO NOT need to read Counting Stars before you read this because it won't help you understand anything. However, if you do want to read Counting Stars, leave me a comment or something or whatever it is you do on here and I will tell you where you can find Counting Stars.</p><p>One Direction (sort of actually just Harry Styles) AU where Harry runs away from home after a very tragic accident involving his father. His sister doesn't want to talk to him and Harry feels alone. Everything basically goes downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Ge-Gemma," Harry sobbed into the phone. He hadn't known what else to do, who else to call. Gemma was the first one who had crossed his mind. His mum was off in America being a shitty mum; his dad was...Gemma was the only one who would know what to do.

"Harry, what's going on?" Gemma asked. Her voice was concerned, the voice of a nineteen year old who always knew what she was doing, and if she didn't she at least acted like she did.

"It-it's Dad," Harry said, taking deep breaths to keep himself from hiccupping, "Dan, he, he kill-"

"Harry, call the police. I'm coming to get you."

Gemma got there a few minutes after the police had arrived. They'd asked for the man’s name, a physical description, and if there was any history of mental illness (he also asked why they had been at this warehouse in the first place, to which Harry had to explain the situation, feeling stupid).

On the way home in Gemma's car, it was silent, and Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to say something or not (if he could stop crying, that is. The image of his father's body was engraved into his brain).

"I can't believe you guys went there," Gemma finally said, and Harry hated how disappointed her tone sounded.

"D-Dad thought it was a g-good idea," Harry said, wiping at his eyes even as more tears came. He wasn't sure they'd ever stop.

"Harry, Dan was mentally ill! Dad never should've agreed to meet with him, especially at some sketchy warehouse! What were you guys thinking!?"

"Gemma, it wasn't my decision," Harry said, his voice practically a whisper as he leaned his head against the cool glass of the car window. His throat hurt from crying, and he tried to clear it but he didn't want to make any sort of noise Gemma could hear. He wanted to make himself as small as possible. He wanted to shrivel up in the corner and cry until his throat and eyes and body gave out.

"You should've talked some sense into Dad! You know he assumes the best in people until he's proven wrong," Gemma said, and Harry hated that he was trapped in this car with her. He had no escape, and he could feel the pressure building up in his forehead.

"Dan never got any mental help at all," Harry whispered, looking at Gemma, but she'd probably already figured that out herself.

"No shit! Harry, you have to think things through! You got some of the best traits of Dad, but damn did you get the worst, too," Gemma said, and Harry had never wanted to punch something so much in his life (such as the window, for instance – not that it would do any good). Harry was so damn close.

"Our father just got murdered by someone he thought was his friend, I'm sobbing my eyes out because I witnessed it, and you're telling me I got the worst of our dad because I assume the best in people too?" Harry screamed, because finally something had burst inside of him, something that was so fucking done with this shit.

"I'm just saying you could've helped prevent it," Gemma said, her voice strong and with a tone of finality.

"Fuck you," Harry mumbled, and it wasn't the first time he had said it, but it was the first time he meant it. He knew she heard him by her slight intake of breath. He could tell she knew he meant it too.

When they got back home, Harry went up to his room, slamming his door shut and leaning against it. He brought his hands up to cover his face, tears upon tears rolling down his cheeks. He took his phone out of his pocket, barely able to see the screen through his blurry vision, and he yelled, throwing his phone against the adjacent wall to his left.

Harry watched as the phone shattered, and he couldn't bring himself to give one single damn about the fact that he already knew he wasn't getting a new one. Why did he deserve a new phone, anyway? Gemma had already made it clear that this was all his fault. He was too much like his dad and it had led to his downfall. The downfall Harry ended up witnessing.

Harry was hungry, he realized after an hour and a half of staring at his white ceiling. It was popcorn ceiling. White and bland and bumpy. He didn't go downstairs to look for food, however, and Gemma didn't make anything.

He wasn't sure what time it was when he climbed into bed, opting for sleeping in just his boxers because he didn't think to put on anything else. He didn't say goodnight to Gemma, either, and she hadn't come to check up on him.

Gemma, on the other hand, could absolutely not wrap her head around a single thing that had happened that night. She was only nineteen; this wasn't something she'd learned to deal with, especially with their mum having left them to start a life in America. Gemma was still bitter towards her, after all these years.

She wasn't sure whether or not she should go check on Harry or leave him be. What was the right thing to do? Especially with a fourteen year old boy? This was one of those times she wished they had a proper Mum to go talk to Harry. She knew how to talk to her brother about all sorts of things, but nothing could've prepared her for this time in their lives.

Deciding against trying to talk to Harry, Gemma curled up in her bed under a soft blanket, letting warm tears roll down her cheeks as she let her exhaustion take over.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Harry woke up at 2:34 in the morning. He hated waking up at random times, especially when he was trying so hard to stay asleep so he didn't have to deal with reality or his conscious mind. He rolled back over, pulling the blanket back up to his neck, closing his eyes and trying to will himself back to sleep.

3:00. He was still up.

Harry groaned, running a hand over his face before pulling on a pair of sweatpants, a long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of socks. He couldn't be here right now.

He tried looking for his phone for a solid two minutes before remembering he'd smashed it against the wall some time before he'd gone to bed. Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, pulling on a hoodie and grabbing his house key and his wallet before walking quietly downstairs.

He knew which stairs to avoid and which parts of the good stairs to step on that would prevent them from creaking. He almost felt like he was dancing, the way he had to step all over the place.

He opened the front door very slowly, slipping out and closing it quietly behind him, locking it with his key and sticking it in his pocket before walking down the steps.

Harry wasn't all that sure where he was going, but he couldn't stand being in his house right now. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, walking down the street and around the corner. There was a convenience store across the street where Harry was friends with the owner, Stan. He was a middle-aged Irish man whose accent was thicker then the hair on his head.

It was a 24 hour store, so when there were no cars coming, Harry ran across the street and opened the front door, seeing Stan behind the counter.

"Harry Styles, my favorite fourteen year old! God almighty, its 3:00 in the morning! What brings you here?" Stan asked, and the look on his face as he watched Harry walk in was amusement, but there was concern there, too. Harry could see it.

"A lot has happened in the past 12 hours, Stan," Harry said, walking behind the counter to sit on the stool next to where Stan was sitting.

"You can talk to me, boy, you know that," Stan said, looking at Harry with a knowing look. Harry was notorious for coming here just to vent to Stan, just not usually at strange hours of the morning.

So Harry told Stan everything, starting with how his dad and Dan had known each other and ending with his fight with Gemma in the car.

"That's some intense shit, Styles," Stan said, and Harry could see the look on his face, that he wasn't really sure what to say but he _was_ taking Harry seriously. That’s all Harry could ask for, really.

"You're telling me," Harry said, letting out a very bitter laugh, "Gemma really made me feel like it was all my fault. I don't know what to do Stan. I really, really don't." A few tears fell down Harry's cheeks, and before he could wipe them away, Stan's hands were resting on his cheeks.

"You listen to me, boy; this is not your fault, okay? You ever need me, you know where to find me," Stan said, making Harry look him straight in the eyes. Harry nodded, and Stan gave him a pat on the cheek before moving his hands away.

This didn't make Harry feel as good as he was hoping it would.


	2. Chapter 2

The funeral was five days later.

Harry had cried a lot. But he was as silent about it as the conversation between him and Gemma had been.

It was just that this was their _dad_ they were talking about. Harry couldn’t understand how Gemma hadn’t even said a single reassuring word to him about their dad – instead she had basically blamed the whole thing on Harry.

They barely talked to each other the whole five days.

This had never happened before. Harry always thought he was pretty close with Gemma, as close as he could be to a sister who was five years older than him. He just didn’t understand how their relationship dwindled away so quickly. When he thought about it, he thought they would’ve gotten closer over this, helped each other through it, but it was the exact opposite.

Harry felt more alone than he ever had in his life, even more alone than when he was little and he thought it was his fault that their mum had left them. He had taken it personally, even when Gemma had explained that it wasn’t his fault at all. He was fourteen now and he had finally understood that his mum had left at her own accord – it actually _wasn’t_ his fault.

So why had she decided that _this_ was his fault?

It was night time now. Harry’s eyes were still a light shade of pink and were puffy from crying basically all day. Lying in bed, looking up at the ceiling, Harry barely blinked. It was past midnight and he couldn’t sleep.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry got out of bed and opened his door silently, making his way down the hall and towards Gemma’s room. He knocked on the door, and not hearing any noise, he opened it to see Gemma lying on her bed, facing away from him.

“Gem?” Harry asked, not knowing if she was awake or not.

“Harry, I don’t want to talk to you.”

And that was all Harry needed to know. He turned around and slammed her door behind him, walking back to his room and slamming the door behind him again. He heard Gemma shout at him to stop slamming doors, so he opened his door and slammed it again before sitting down on his bed.

Tears fell from his eyes as he came to a decision that would literally change his life forever.

Harry waited a few minutes before grabbing a backpack, stuffing clothes and money into it, grabbing his house key and a flashlight. He pulled on socks and his favorite pair of shoes, along with his favorite sweatshirt.

Harry opened his bedroom door and listened for a few minutes, making sure that Gemma was in her room, asleep hopefully. Once he was pretty sure she was asleep, (or at least not about to pop out of nowhere and start questioning him), Harry walked downstairs quietly.

Gemma hadn’t caught him five days ago when he snuck out, and he was pretty sure she wouldn’t catch him this time, either.

Before leaving, Harry grabbed a blanket off of the couch and stuffed it into his backpack, going into the kitchen to grab whatever food he thought he could travel with. This included a jar of peanut butter, two boxes of granola bars, a box of crackers, and a water bottle.

Harry found a piece of paper and a pen, going over to the counter to write a very simple note, his last words to Gemma.

“Goodbye. Love Harry.”

That was what he wrote. He left the note on the counter where he was sure Gemma would see it in the morning, before going to the front door.

Harry felt almost numb as he opened it, stepping outside and re-locking it with his house key.

He was actually doing this.

Now he just had to find a place to go.

He couldn’t go tell Stan, because he knew Stan, and he knew he would march him right back to his house and make him talk to Gemma. _Was it too risky to say goodbye, though?_

Harry was so damn tempted.

Harry crossed the street, walking into the convenience store before he could talk himself out of it. He left his backpack by the door so Stan wouldn’t see it before walking up to the counter.

“Harry! What brings you here so late?” Stan asked, and his voice sounded happy to see him but with an undertone of genuine concern.

“Just came by for a chat. The funeral was today,” Harry said, moving around the counter to sit next to Stan. This may be the last time he ever sees him. He wanted to do this right.

“Are you alright, lad?” Stan asked, and the sadness in his eyes as he looked at Harry almost had him crying again. It was a wonder he had any tears _left,_ really.

“It was just hard, ya know? And Gemma wouldn’t really talk to me, so I’ve had to kind of deal with it on my own,” Harry said, shrugging his shoulders and looking down, trying not to mumble.

“Everything _will_ get better, Harry,” Stan said, conviction in his voice. Harry wanted with everything in him to believe Stan. He just wasn’t sure he could.

Instead of voicing his thoughts, Harry said, “Thanks, Stan. I hope so.”

“I don’t need to have a talk with Gemma, do I?” Stan asked, and he sounded all-serious, all-business; not something that happened very often.

“No,” Harry said, not trying to sound like every nerve in his body was screaming because _for the love of god please don’t let Stan get involved._

“Alright, then. You should be getting back, Gemma’s probably wondering where you are,” Stan said, and Harry scoffed bitterly.

“She doesn’t even know I left.”


End file.
